The Demonic Angel
by che-guevara
Summary: I'm writing WAY too many fics... The story of how Julia transformed Spike on their last night together.


The kiss was deep, deep enough to choke both of them. Their lips melted into a single entity of flesh and skin. She pushed him back and took off her top, after releasing her hair and placing her sunglasses on the desk nearby. The two bodies became one again, as his hands struggled to undo her bra. She loosened his belt, and they sank on the bed.  
When Julia woke up, she was still naked, barely covered with the thin sheet she used as a blanket. She tried finding his warm body next to her, but couldn't. His coat, though, was still on the floor. She hastily put some clothes on, and started wandering around the apartment for some trace of his. She found him on the balcony. He was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched in front of him, smoking. As soon as their eyes met, she smiled a broad grin, which was barely responded by a pale, fake smile.  
"What is it?" - She asked.  
"Nothing."  
"You're a good liar."  
"I've always known that."  
"Do you have to go?"  
"Yeah. I can't stay behind. I have some things to do. Vicious is expecting me. He needs me to help him."  
"Oh come on. Vicious can handle it himself."  
"You don't know him very well, do you?"  
There was a period of serene silence, interrupted steadily by the songs of the birds and the whisper of the wind. Above them, the sky was still dark. Julia judged it to be around 4:00 AM. She had no idea why she had woken up so needlessly, neither did she know why Spike was up.  
"Spike."  
"What?"  
"Tell me. Do you. You and me."  
"Is this gonna be one of those women questions again? You know, you give me a hint and expect me to decode it?"  
She laughed. He smiled.  
"But seriously, Spike."  
"Just speak."  
"Do you really love me?"  
He was expecting her to ask that. He never verbalized his emotions, so he wasn't surprised. He hoped his actions would speak louder than his words, but obviously he had failed. His eyes didn't flicker, neither did he blush. He just looked straight up, at the starry night.  
"Spike. I need an answer." - He turned to look at her face, his eyes were now deep and enigmatic:  
"Yeah. I guess I do love you."  
She put her head on his shoulder, and slowly went to a quiet, dreamless sleep. He stayed awake, despite the cold wind, smoking one box of cigarettes after another, trying to avoid thoughts and emotions. He just wanted to enjoy the moment; in the morning, he'd have to go back to the syndicate again.  
He stopped breathing for a second. A thought had just passed from his mind, like a flash of lightning - he didn't want to go back to Vicious. For such a long time, he had lived the life of an outlaw, killing, stealing, walking the thin line between life and death. And he had enjoyed every minute of it. But now he was reluctant to go back! Had anything changed? No. Except. This was the first time someone was resting her head on his shoulder. He looked down, and watched her angelic face for a while; her breathing was so quiet, so rhythmic, so perfect. Her lids were as beautiful as her magical eyes. Eyes that were more beautiful than the legendary Arabian Nights, and deeper than the universe itself. Her lips were the color or roses, and shone with a dull brilliance. Her golden hair flowed down her shoulders, down his chest, brushing his waist with stingy tips. She was a goddess. But a goddess of what?  
  
Slowly, the east started burning with a pale red light. Spike stood up, and slowly carried Julia back to the bed. Then, on a random piece of paper, he wrote her a note, and left.  
He was on his way to Vicious, and a few important operations were planned for that day, but Spike was lost in a sea of thoughts. He could not get rid of his doubts, and thus couldn't stop smoking. For the first time his pistol felt heavy, and the nicotine seemed to choke him. He was a different man, all of a sudden, but he knew he was a BETTER man. For some reason, he thought this change was supposed to happen to him; it was destined. And he realized it: he didn't want to fight anymore, he didn't want to kill anymore, and he looked at death in a different way - he was terrified, scared, wanted to run away, escape. Julia really loved him, and he really loved her. He wanted to spend his days with her, laughing, smiling. Or just smoking with her head resting on his shoulder. He wanted to turn back, he wanted to run away, take her, and be free! Free of everything, free of the freedom he had in the syndicate. Free.  
  
But he couldn't. His feet led him to his best friend, and a bloody day ensued. They killed, stole, destroyed, risked. At one point, Spike almost got hit by a bullet square in the forehead, but Vicious saved him by pushing him away in the nick of the time.  
  
That night, Spike gave Julia another note. Then he disappeared. Three years later, he would fall on the stairs of the Red Dragon HQ, his lover dead, his best friend dead, his life in ruins. Sometimes, it just doesn't work out. 


End file.
